


Age Is A Record

by VerySwampeh



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Alcohol, Automail, Backstory, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, FMA Angst Week 2018, Gen, Illness, assorted OCs - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:27:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22351072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VerySwampeh/pseuds/VerySwampeh
Summary: Pinako Rockbell had seen a lot in her life, and it wasn't all sunshine and roses. Collection of Pinako-centric stories, written for Angst Week 2018.
Comments: 18
Kudos: 38





	1. Penance

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is another fic that I originally uploaded on FFN and is being cross-posted here. This was written for FMA Angst Week 2018 and it's all about Pinako. Various characters, relationships, and timelines. Each chapter will have its own warnings.
> 
> Warnings: Language, some medical talk  
> Characters: Pinako, Ed  
> Timeline: Early series, during Ed's automail rehab

"You're leaning too far."

Ed scowled up at her with every ounce of frustration his eleven-year-old self could muster. "Of course I am! I've only got one arm to balance!"

"So compensate."

Ed let out a swear that Pinako would have been mad about if he hadn't learned it from her. His first journey from his bed to the kitchen for lunch was turning out to be more of a trial than he had imagined, clearly. Pinako had gone over what to do and what to expect beforehand, but knowing and doing were two different things. He'd already slipped twice and he was barely into the hallway.

"Can I have my arm? One of the spares?"

"No." It was the third time they'd had that conversation that morning. Pinako was surprised when he'd asked for the arm attached; just putting the leg on had knocked him out for a good couple hours. "You've been laid up for weeks; your upper body strength is shot." She knocked her pipe against the wall sternly. "Once you get walking, you can really start getting your strength back. The arm will come with that."

That was another conversation they'd had a dozen times before. Ed wanted to go all in, all at once, and Pinako wasn't having it. She'd assumed that once he started rehab and got into the gritty, agonizing, bone-deep-terrible pain that came with it, he'd pull back. Clearly not. Part of her, deep down, wondered if the boy thought he deserved the pain. Some sort of twisted atonement for Alphonse's fate and the failed transmutation.

_Not on my watch, you stupid boy._

Ed bared his teeth, his left hand braced against the wall. He looked ready to dig in heels and fight her over it, so she cut him off. "Stop stalling!" she pointed towards the kitchen. "Lunch is ready for you, if you can ever haul your tiny little butt that far!"

That worked. The promise of food, combined with a good old-fashioned short jab, got him moving. Solid food was still a novel to him, after weeks of broths and thin stews. The promised lunch was a roast beef sandwich, with meat that had been cooked to practically mush. It would probably be cold by the time he got there, but he'd be hungry enough not to care. As long as he ate it, Pinako didn't care either. He needed the proteins and carbs if they were going to make any progress on his rehab.

It took nearly half an hour for Ed to travel the distance from the Rockbell's medical ward to the kitchen. That journey was broken up with several breaks and as many falls, all complete with a round of cursing. Some of it Pinako recognized as her own, but most of it sounds suspiciously like it came from the mouth of Jenny Tickson, Resembool's blacksmith.

Pinako made a mental note to chew Jenny a new one next time she needed some metal sheets cut.

The house was quiet, with just the two of them. She'd sent Winry and Al to the market for the week's worth of errands, and Den had been shooed out of the house. As well trained as she was with automail patients, Ed was more likely to step on her paws than anything at this point. And really, Pinako had enough on her plate without an upset boy and an upset dog howling at the top of their lungs.

It took Ed two tries to sit at the table. The first time, he misjudged the distance to the chair and landed square on his ass, knocking his head on the table as he went down. Pinako busied herself with pouring out glasses of water for the both of them. It kept her from coddling him, which he wouldn't take well in the least.

The second time, he made it into the chair, face flushed and sides heaving. Pinako nudged the glass of water towards him and he took it, drinking greedily. He drained it and she filled it again without being asked. His attention had switched to the sandwich and he fell onto it with as much voracity as he had the water. It was a messy affair, with the combination of soggy bread and only one hand to work with. Most of the meat slid out from the sandwich and on to the plate whenever Ed took a bite from it.

"You know I can only kick your brother and Winry out of the house so many times," she said, and Ed looked away, going red to his hairline. "And this is something Winry needs to learn. She worked on your surgery and she'll work on your rehab and all your maintenance after that."

"Granny, that was _embarrassing_ ," he whined, trying to push the sandwich back together with his one hand. Again, Pinako occupied herself with her own drink. If Ed wanted to do his rehab in a year, he'd have to learn fast. She had to be as hands-off as she could be to expedite the process.

"Get used to it. You'll be doing that a lot."

"But this is-!" Ed floundered for a word, but Pinako could think of plenty: _humiliating, awkward, painful_.

She jabbed a finger at him. "Then you better get to work on walking. The sooner you get your feet under you, the sooner we can stop breathing down your neck."

Ed held her gaze and glowered, matching her own scowl. Then he went back to work on his sandwich. It was more methodical, more ordered, Pinako noticed, as he stuffed the meat back into the bread and folded the sandwich onto itself to keep it all inside. He took a bite, looking Pinako square in the eyes. He looked like a mess, his fingers covered in grease, hair shaggy, and still too pale and too thin from his bedrest.

She grunted. "Look at that, you _can_ use that little genius brain of yours," she said, hiding her smile behind her glass as Ed wolfed down the rest of the sandwich, not even bothering to spare her a glare.


	2. Failure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2! Apparently I have a thing for writing scenes while everyone's eating. Food's good!
> 
> Warnings: Language  
> Characters: Pinako, Winry (EdWin on the side)  
> Timeline: Post-series

Pinako had forgotten how stupidly hot Rush Valley was. It'd been years since she'd been there, and part of her regretted coming at all. She was too old for this sort of climate. But she wouldn't miss Winry's grand opening for the world.

And she had to admit, showing up unannounced on Dominic's doorstep the night before had been well worth it all. That had been an excellent dinner.

Today was the day Winry had officially finished up with her paperwork and now had the keys to her own shop and the apartment above it. She and Ed had spent weeks squabbling over where they wanted to live and they had finally settled on a place off the main drag of Rush Valley.

They'd moved most of their belongings into the living space already, but today all of the big equipment, tools, and fixtures for the shop were being delivered and installed. Garfiel had brought an entire gaggle of fans- no, _fellow mechanics_ \- to help with the move in.

Ed and Al were inside with the rest of the helpers, setting up Winry's shop and organizing what they could. Well, Alphonse was likely helping; Edward was more than likely just getting in everyone's way. Pinako had finally convinced Winry to step away for a bit- otherwise, she'd try to micromanage everything and just burn herself out. Winry hadn't wanted to leave at all. The compromise had been to go to the sandwich shop on the corner and sit outside, where they could still see all the commotion.

"What if I fail, Granny? What if I ruin someone's automail? Or have to close the shop?"

Pinako snorted. Those were legitimate concerns for any mechanic, but she was hardly going to tell Winry that. "You won't." They had had this discussion before Winry had gone to her apprenticeship.

"But what if I do?" Winry frowned down at her. "I already messed up with Ed's first design. It was too heavy! And I used that model as a base for other clients!"

"You came up with that when you were eleven." _And I gave it my stamp of approval_. If they'd had three years, they could have tweaked and adjusted it till the cows came home. As it was, Ed's timeline and their own remote location had left them with limited time and limited materials to use. But it seemed her granddaughter was determined to drag herself through the mud today. "And he hardly gave us a chance to experiment with the design and test different options for him. Besides," she pointed a finger at Winry, "you're not using that design anymore, are you?"

Winry shook her head once. "No. I retired it." She still had the plans stashed in her portfolio, Pinako knew. It was good habit for a mechanic to keep all their designs, no matter how outdated they became. It was a good way to show personal progress and you never knew if a half-forgotten toe design would solve all your problems.

"So you've learned from your mistakes." Pinako shrugged and leaned back in her seat. "You've got a decade's worth of experience under your belt now. Better tools, more feedback, more resources. So your automail will only get better from here."

Winry still looked unconvinced and darted another glance down the street to her shop.

Pinako sighed, trying her best to not roll her eyes, but she was really too old for this. "Winry." Her voice was firm. "There is not a single mechanic out there that has a perfect track record. We've all done bad designs and had accidents and mess-ups."

She paused, tapping her fingers on the glass top of the patio table. "You may even have a patient die on you."

That finally pulled Winry's attention back to the conversation. "What? Granny, I wouldn't let-"

Damn it all, she did not want to be having this conversation. "You will. A bad reaction to installation, the surgery, an infection, a wire shorting out… something. The longer you work with automail, the more death you'll see." Sometimes it was just bad luck, sometimes it was your own bad judgement, but dead was dead no matter how it came about.

"It could be anyone," Pinako went on, relentless. Winry was giving her all her attention, which was good. This was an ugly conversation and it was one Pinako only wanted to have once. And this was something Winry needed to hear and understand. She wasn't an assistant or an apprentice anymore- she was an independent mechanic now and anything that happened under her roof was her responsibility. "It could be an elderly patient you've had for years, a new client, young and perfectly healthy." She paused, then dropped the bomb. "It could be Ed."

Winry was halfway out of her seat before Pinako grabbed her wrist and tugged until she sat down again. Her granddaughter was furious- face red, shoulders tense and hunched- but that was good. It meant she was listening. It meant she understood the gravity of the discussion.

"It could be _anything_. An infection in the port that gets out of hand. A bad reaction to a new metal. An overloaded wire that shorts out and electrocutes him. A misaligned reattachment."

Silence fell. Winry ignored her sandwich, too busy staring at the table to bother with eating it. But Pinako took the time to finish her own lunch off. This was old hat to her: she had some form of this conversation with herself every time she worked on automail. There was always a chance it would go badly. And there were steps she could take to minimize the risk.

But there was always a chance.

"...Has it happened to you?" Winry had looked up from the table. She was frowning, the shock and abruptness of the message giving way to actual thought. "Have people died on you?"

"Yes. Several."

Winry flinched and Pinako didn't bother to elaborate. The details weren't important. "And I'm not the only one. Dominic and Garfiel have lost patients, too. Do you think we're failures for that?"

"No."

"You think we should quit the trade?"

"No!"

Pinako huffed. "Then stop running yourself through the grinder, girl! You'll mess up, but you're a Rockbell. Failure's not in your future."

A small smile flickered onto Winry's face. "Granny, that was almost cheesy. Don't worry, I won't tell anyone. Wouldn't want word getting out that Pinako Rockbell's gone soft in her old age."

Was she teasing her? _Where's my pipe when I need it._ "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Of course, Granny."

"Finish your sandwich or I'm not paying for lunch."


	3. Scars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 3, chapter 3! Thank you to everyone who's reading, reviewing, and following!
> 
> Warnings: Language, blood  
> Characters: Pinako, Al  
> Timeline: Post-series

Pinako loved all her grandchildren dearly, but at that particular moment, Alphonse was the only one she wasn't ready to strangle. Ed and Winry had clearly decided that they were going to spend the entire week arguing about everything, so Pinako did the logical thing and kicked them out for the night.

That had set off even more yelling until Pinako had threatened to go get her old shotgun and chase them off the property. "You're welcome back for breakfast if you can be civil!" she'd shouted after them, but the two of them had booked it so far down the path, still bickering, Pinako wasn't sure if they'd heard her.

Oh, well.

Alphonse watched her reproachfully as she came back in and closed the front door. "Granny," he said, his tone speaking volumes of how little he approved of the situation.

"They'll be fine," Pinako replied, waving a hand dismissively. Anyone in Resembool would give them a bed for the night, and even if that didn't work out, there were dozens of barns for them to sleep in. The weather was balmy enough that they could crash out under a tree if they wanted. As long as they got their attitudes sorted out, Pinako didn't care one way or another. "Let's get dinner going. You want stew?"

Alphonse's mood shifted immediately and he pushed up from the couch he'd been sitting on. Pinako was pleased to see he left the cane behind as he followed her into the kitchen. He'd been home for months, still working through therapy, and the crutch had been retired some weeks ago. The small cane was kept just in case he needed it. Soon, Pinako was sure, they'd be able to stash it in the closet and forget about it. A couple more weeks of good food and exercise and it'd be like the past couple years had never happened.

Almost. Pinako wasn't stupid enough to think they'd all just magically forget about it. It wasn't as obvious with Al as it was for his brother- Edward had automail and the ring of heavy scarring around his right shoulder was impossible to ignore. Al had subtler tells, like ducking under doorways, losing his sense of time, and occasionally forgetting that he wasn't an unfeeling suit of armor.

_(One time, Al had almost picked a pan out of the oven with his bare hands before catching himself. Pinako had thought Ed was going to drop dead of a heart attack right there in her kitchen.)_

"I'll get the vegetables," Al said, stepping around her to bags on the counter. They'd all gone down to the market that morning, and the kitchen was stocked for the week. He pulled out the sacks of peas, corn, and carrots and moved over to the table to begin shelling the peas.

Pinako gave him a firm pat on the back and moved to the other counter to prepare the meat. Good stew meat, nicely marbled.

She finished first. Alphonse was still a little shaky when it came to fine motor skills, but he had worked his way through the peas with silent determination. He was almost done shucking the corn; the bucket of corn husks at his feet was nearly full and ready for the compost pile.

The beef went into the pot with the broth and seasoning. It was already starting to smell like dinner, even though it wouldn't be ready for hours yet.

 _I forgot to order those forceps_. Pinako glanced up towards the clock on the wall: it was not quite three in the afternoon yet. They'd still be open. "Alphonse," she said, hopping down from her stool, "I need you to watch the pot. I have to call down an order to Rush Valley before I forget."

Al glanced up from his corn. "Sure, Granny!"

The call really should have only taken five minutes. Pinako knew what she wanted and she knew the shop had it, but Broden liked to talk. And he was good at it. Pinako found herself kicking her feet up and getting into a discussion about the recent price spike on platinum (it had to be from the drought out west) and whether or not it would be a smart long-term decision to stop using it in automail.

"What would you use instead? Chromium?"

"Chromium? It's even more expensive than platinum!"

"But it's been a stable for decades. People wouldn't have to worry too much about suddenly not being able to afford their own replacement parts."

"You'd lose the conductivity, though. Might be worth working with silver-"

A call from the kitchen cut Pinako off. "Granny! I think the- ow, _shit_!"

Pinako could count the number of times she'd heard Alphonse honest-to-god swear on one hand. She slammed the phone down and bolted back to the kitchen before she'd even realized she was moving.

Alphonse was hunched over by the stove, hands curled at his chest. One of Pinako's large kitchen knives was on the floor, and there was blood. On his hands, his shirt, the counter behind him.

"You got all your fingers?" she asked, grabbing a towel. _Please have all your fingers. Don't tell me you just accidentally cut off a finger_.

Al didn't give her a clear answer; he just stared at her, eyes wide and wild.

Standing in the middle of the kitchen wasn't doing them any good. "To the back," she ordered, wrapping the towel around his fists and tugging on his elbow. Al followed mechanically.

The Rockbell medical ward was small, but stocked. Pinako ordered the best she could from Rush Valley and event from Central. It could handle automail surgeries without a hitch. It could handle a couple sliced fingers.

She guided Al over to the big basin sink against the wall. Normally they used it to clean tools or soak automail pieces that needed to sit overnight. Pinako twisted the tap on. "This'll sting," she informed Alphonse and pulled his hands under the water.

Al yelped and tried to pull back, but Pinako held firm. "You've had worse! Come on, we need to get the blood off." She needed to see the damage. Al groaned; he wasn't crying, but Pinako was sure that was more from the shock than the fact that he wasn't in pain.

She untangled the towel, letting it fall to bottom of the sink. And- ten fingers. Pinako sighed with relief as she carefully began to probe the damage.

Al's right hand was fine. It was his left that had taken the hit- there was a deep cut in between the knuckles of his middle three fingers. "What happened? Knife slipped?" she asked. Talking would help; it would pull his attention away from staring at the bloody split in his skin.

"Y-yeah." Alphonse swallowed, looked away, then back to her. "I was cutting the carrots and I turned to check the pot. It looked ready for the vegetables so I called and I-" He glanced down at his fingers, then back to her. "-missed."

Pinako pulled his fingers closer to her eyes. The cut was clean (Pinako kept her knives sharp) but it was also deep. Too deep to just wrap and let it heal on its own. "You need stitches," she declared. "Stay here, don't move."

She shuffled to the cabinets, gathering her supplies. Al was still hunched over the sink, eyes darting between her and his hand. Bandages, needle, thread, scissors, antiseptic, and a clean towel all went on the rolling tray. She dragged it back over to Alphonse and pointed to the empty space. "Hand there, keep it flat."

He did so.

"This'll hurt."

Al cracked a weak smile. "I've had worse."

Pinako snorted, washed down both their hands, and threaded the needle. "Just be glad your brother isn't here. He'd be having a fit and ruining my concentration."

Al's right hand was clamped around the edge of the sink as she began to work. His knuckles were white. "Brother has a fit about everything. It's so people don't forget he's standing there. He's easy to miss, being so short and all."

"Don't let him hear you say that," Pinako replied, shaking her head. Al had outgrown both Ed and Winry in the past weeks and it had been a true sticking point.

The rest of the procedure passed in silence. Al sat rigid, alternating between breathing hard and not breathing at all. Pinako didn't look up once she got going; fingers were small and hard to work with. "These will scar," she said as she finally sat back and cut the last thread. "Not sure how bad, but we'll keep an eye on it."

Al flexed his fingers, looking thoughtful. "Brother and Winry have scars," he said quietly as Pinako began to wrap the fingers in clean bandages. "So do you."

That was true. She and Winry had their own assortments of scars that came from working with metal and machinery. Ed apparently went out of his way to collect his own. She grunted in acknowledgement and went to put her supplies away.

"Give yourself a couple minutes," she said, pushing the empty tray back to its spot. "I'll go clean the kitchen up. And next time, peel the carrots, not yourself."


	4. Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's this? More automail meta? Pinako backstory? Yes! (Featuring a very small correction from the FFN version.) 
> 
> Warnings: Medical talk, injury  
> Characters: Pinako, mentions of OCs  
> Timeline: Early series

People died during automail surgery. It wasn't a common enough occurrence to truly drive people away, but it also wasn't rare enough to be ignored as an accident of fate. Pinako had death on her record- two had died on the table, and another half dozen were lost to complications after the surgery. She remembered them all and when Edward declared he wanted automail, they were all she could think about.

Gerald had an artery that wouldn't close, no matter how much she cauterized and wrapped it. Loretta's heart gave out during the initial port installation and Pinako hadn't been able to get it beating again.

Edward made it through surgery. He had a hell of a time with it, but he made it. It was more than some people got.

The rehab was every bit as messy as Pinako had predicted. Ed pushed too far too quickly and the strain left him laid out for days. Balancing Ed's drive with her own caution was a true challenge, but Pinako couldn't bring herself to outright deny his efforts. Especially with Alphonse quietly lurking around, trying to pretend he wasn't as big and empty as he was. She let Ed push himself till he collapsed or vomited or bled and she hated every minute of it.

So she doubled down where she could. Sanitizing and cleaning went under extra scrutiny- even to the point where Winry was frustrated with having to change and wash the sheets _again_. But Pinako wasn't risking it; she wasn't going to let Ed go the same way Wilhelm or Abigail or Brun had gone. They'd been fine one day, feverish by the evening, and dead in the morning. Infections came quick and they weren't gentle by any means. And that meant she had to be just as aggressive, even if it meant losing sleep.

She checked his wires daily. It drove Ed up a wall, both because getting hooked up to the machine took time and having electricity shot through your nerves was far from pleasant. But Pinako didn't budge. Maud's wires hadn't sat quite right and when Pinako had connected her leg for the first time, the electrical burst had shut down her brain and that'd been that.

Maud had been Pinako's first death- first failure. It was also the first time she'd gone and gotten blackout drunk. It hadn't helped. When she'd come out of it, Maud was still dead and Pinako still hated herself.

She'd spent weeks after that, holed up in her shop, going over every blueprint, every plan, every step, trying to figure out what had gone wrong. Why had it been Maud's wires that went bad? The wires weren't torn, the port had been secure. But the angle had been just a _little_ off, the wires connected to the nerves just a _little_ too loosely. Half a centimeter of difference had been all it taken to kill a perfectly healthy woman.

Edward, at eleven years, had a veritable minefield of potential disasters and deaths to navigate through. His drive to do it all in a year was something of a relief: the quicker they got through the surgery and the recovery and the rehab, the sooner those dangers passed.

But danger never really passed when you had automail. It was a constant strain, even years and decades after the fact. It could make you sick in a dozen different ways, wreck your body temperature, and warp the muscle and bone it cut through.

Improvements to automail- usually in the shape of better materials- would normally be seen as an all-around good thing. But bringing in a new metal was a risk all by itself. The only real way to effectively test for allergies was the use it and hope for the best. Rashes and nausea were the obvious tells and easy to catch. Sometimes it was quieter, deadlier. Jonathan had had a headache he couldn't shake after she swapped out his connectors with a new design (and a new metal). He'd died not even a week later, the reaction having spread through the nerves in his shoulder port to his brain.

And sometimes, the automail just straight-up fought back. Port rejections were a nightmare, the boogeyman of the automail industry. There was no true rhyme or reason to them, but they were almost always lethal. If someone survived with nothing more than further amputation, they were lucky. Louisa had not been lucky. She'd spent three days in and out of surgeries before she'd lost that battle.

Pinako watched for it all. Any time Edward so much as winced, her mind was going a hundred miles an hour, trying to pinpoint what exactly the problem could be, how much time she'd have to fix it, and what she needed to do. It was exhausting. If she hadn't already been grey, she would have been by the time Ed waltzed out her door to go sell his soul to military.

"Granny?" Winry asked from the doorway. "You need a break?"

Pinako glanced up from her knitting. It was nearly midnight and Ed was snoring away on the bed, exhausted after a day spent going up and down the stairs. He was past the point of needing someone watching him all night. Pinako had decided to sit up with him the past couple nights; the fever he'd developed was low, but it was enough to catch her attention. "No, I'm fine. Go to sleep."

"I'm not tired. I can watch him." When Pinako shook her head, Winry went doggedly on: "You've stayed up with him all week, you need a break. You're always telling _me_ not to wear myself out!"

She was right. Pinako did need a night off. But she definitely wasn't going to take one that night. Maybe tomorrow. Or the next week. She leaned back further in her chair and pointed to the half-open door across from her. "Since you're not tired, you can go scrub down the bathroom."

Winry puffed out her cheeks. "I did that this morning."

"Do it again."

"Why?"

"Just in case."


	5. Broken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably my favorite chapter so far. I'm such a sucker for Den. So here's a fic that stemmed from a short text post I made over on Tumblr.
> 
> Warnings: Injury  
> Characters: Pinako, Den, and the Rockbells  
> Timeline: Pre-series, early series

Winry wanted a puppy.

Of course she did- she was three and almost every other family in Resembool had at least one farm dog. Frankly, Pinako didn't think they needed one.

Urey, on the other hand, thought it was a great idea. "The only kids her age nearby are the Elrics," he said one night as he and Pinako cleaned up after dinner. "The three of us all work. It'd be good for her to have someone here to play with."

Pinako huffed. "I'm trying to run an automail shop here. Don't need a dog getting underfoot." Urey and Sara mostly worked out of the house, going to their patients instead of the other way around. Pinako's clients, on the other hand, came and stayed at their home while they were being worked on. There was no way she could have a dog sticking its nose into all her (clean) equipment.

Her son gave her a patient smile that he certainly had not inherited from her. "We can train a dog."

"We're not getting a dog."

They got a dog.

* * *

Farmer Brenson's sheepdog oh-so-conveniently had a litter of puppies just in time for Winry's fourth birthday. Urey and Sara were more than happy to present the wiggling black-and-white puppy to their ecstatic daughter.

"I'm not training that mutt," Pinako declared as she watched her granddaughter and the Elric boys running amok with the dog in the front lawn.

Urey glanced over. "She's not a mutt. She's a purebred eastern scent hound."

Pinako wasn't amused. "Doesn't change what I said. I'm not training her." She'd been outvoted about having the dog, so she was going to stand her ground here. "And she's definitely not allowed near my shop."

* * *

Pinako had learned to expect the unexpected as an automail engineer, but having a dog on her table was definitely something she'd never anticipated in her half a century of work.

Earlier that day, Winry had come tearing into the house, bawling at the top of her lungs about the train, Ed, and Den. She'd been mostly incoherent and so Sara and Urey had run for the train tracks, expecting the worst for Trisha's oldest boy.

As it turned out, Ed was fine- but Den was not. The dog's front left leg was twisted and shredded down to the bone, victim to a nasty hit by the train. On a person, it'd have to be amputated. On a dog, it was fatal.

And yet somehow Pinako found herself in her surgery with Den laid out on the table. That hadn't been the plan. She and Urey had quietly agreed that there wasn't anything they could do at that point. Winry, apparently, had other ideas, and had fixed Pinako with the saddest eyes a four year old could muster. "Granny, you can give Den a new leg, right? Like you do for other people?"

Automail on animals was far from common. It was considered by many to be unnecessarily cruel, especially for older animals. There were cases of it, here and there- a prize racehorse getting a new leg so they could be put out to pasture for breeding, the military replacing the paws of field dogs who'd stepped on landmines. All in all, it was expensive, messy, and a whole lot of trouble.

"We'll see if she can make it through the night," Urey had decided and the two of them had cleaned Den up the best they could. The leg was beyond saving and they'd had to amputate it up to the shoulder. She was young, they reasoned. She'd probably be able to adapt to missing her leg.

Neither one of them had talked about Winry's plea for automail. But even so, Pinako found herself awake in the middle of the night, sketching out plans for an automail paw.

Pinako liked to think that she wasn't a pushover, but evidence was starting to suggest otherwise.

Stupid dog.

* * *

They ended up doing the surgery. Winry had been inconsolable at the thought of Den not getting a new leg and the dog had recovered enough to hop around the house on three legs. Urey had spotted her half-finished automail plans and the two of them made a trip to the local veterinarian to have her look over the operation.

The veterinarian had been skeptical (and rightfully so, in Pinako's opinion). "I don't see anything wrong with it," she said, sliding the plans back across the table. "In theory, it should all work. The only thing I'm worried about is not being able to keep the port in place."

Pinako made a note to look into harnesses. That was old, outdated automail design, but having the port slowly tear itself off Den's shoulder was a cruelty they could avoid. She and Urey outlined the surgery that evening and went to work on it the next day.

* * *

Ishval came and went and Pinako was glad Winry had that dog.

* * *

Den's training with automail patients came about almost entirely on accident. Ishval had ended and with it came a line of patients a mile long. The Rockbell house could handle the load, but Den was still trying to get underfoot. Her surgery and rehab had worked, much to Pinako's surprise and she was moving around like she'd been born with the metal limb.

One morning, Pinako was sitting in her living room with a soldier. He'd been sent to get automail to replace hand and forearm he'd lost in the war. Someone had clearly ordered him to do it; he was eyeing the paperwork in front of him like he expected it to bite him. The pictures of port connections were probably not helping, but Pinako didn't believe in sugarcoating automail.

She got up to show him out as their meeting ending. The man hadn't made any decisions and Pinako wondered if he was going to make some calls to get out of the surgery. They stepped onto the porch and the man stopped, eyes staring off into Pinako's yard.

Winry and Den were there, playing with a ball. Winry tossed it as hard as she could and Den flung herself after it, barking and leaping for her favorite toy.

The man turned to her. "Did you make that?" he asked, pointing to Den, who was now prancing in circles around Winry, refusing to give the ball back.

"Sure did. She's had that leg a couple years." Pinako watched as the man nodded once, slowly, his eyes following Den as she took a running leap into the air for a stick. Then he thanked her for her time and made his way off the porch and down the path.

Two hours later, he called to schedule his surgery.

* * *

One night, Pinako slipped into Ed's room to check on him. It was raining, the first real thunderstorm since Ed had gotten his automail and she knew he'd be having a hell of a time with it.

The room was dark and Pinako could barely make out the lump on the bed. The lump was too big, she realized a moment later.

Her eyes adjusted to the darkness and Pinako realized it wasn't just Ed on the bed- Den had jumped onto it and was huddled up against the boy.

Pinako scowled. Den wasn't allowed on the beds in the surgery. It was one of the first things they'd trained her not to do, and there had never been a problem before. She opened her mouth, ready to shoo the dog out-

\- And stopped when she caught sight of Ed's hand (his right hand), rubbing up and down Den's side. Pinako couldn't see his face, but the movement was slow, carefully calculated to not pull on the fur or pinch skin.

Den huffed happily, tail wagging gently, when Ed paused to scratch behind one of her ears. She leaned over to lick him, her metal toes clacking against Ed's metal arm.

Pinako slowly backed out of the room, closing the door behind her.

* * *

The boys left, then Winry left, and Pinako was glad she had that stupid dog.


	6. Deception

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter absolutely took a life of its own. I loved writing this! Remember Maud from the earlier chapter? Wellllll here's the story!
> 
> Warnings: Alcohol, death, language  
> Characters: Pinako, Hohenheim  
> Timeline: (Very early) pre-series

"You've done all your exercises?"

"Yeah."

"You sure? No skipping on the stretches?"

Maud flared her nostrils, half-annoyed, half-amused. "Pinako, you've been watching me like a hawk for the past year, I think you know damn well I haven't been skimping."

There was truth to that. "Well excuse me for making sure you end up with a functional leg." Pinako stood, wiping her hands on her worksuit. All things considered, Pinako was confident about Maud's chances. They'd been friends long before the wreck on the rail line that had taken Maud's leg and she knew how far she could push and what would work. It was her first truly customized piece of automail, too. Her first dozen or so patients had taken some version of her master's design; it was all she'd had time to work on, with her new, privately owned shop.

Three years of working on her own, and the custom-made model PR-001-RL was ready for use. She'd reinforced the knee and ankle to cover for Maud's heavy labor in the engine yard, and made the shin thicker than normal to support it all. She already had plans for an upgrade- better joint work on the toes, a little more mobility on the ankle. It'd do wonders to cut down on the limp Maud would have.

And if Maud's models all worked out, then she could use them as a baseline for other designs. Better flexibility, lighter materials, quicker nerve responses. Her mentor told her she was joining to shake the automail industry to its core. Benson liked to exaggerate and brag about her to other mechanics, but Pinako felt that he was right this time. She was just a couple months shy of thirty- plenty of time to make her mark.

Pinako eyed Maud's port one final time. The scarring was ugly and knotted, but it was strong and there hadn't been any tearing in weeks. Her appetite was back, her balance and strength passed muster. The doctor had given her a clean bill of health just the other day. "You ready?"

Maud's grin was infectious. "Give me the goods, Pinako."

At the time, Pinako thought the leg was a thing of beauty. And for the year eighteen-seventy-four, it sure was. Limited use of the joints, lots of noise from gears and hydraulics, and almost as heavy as a stack of bricks. It was designed for pure functionality, too, without thought to how it would look or if it would be able to pass as a flesh-and-blood limb under clothing.

Even so, they were both over the moon for the leg.

Pinako offered Maud a bite block, which she took. No need to add cracked teeth or a bitten tongue to the situation. "I'll start on three and it'll take me a minute to get all the bolts in place." There were three bolts to fasten: two supports and the anchor. Highly efficient for the time and part of the reason mechanics installed in pairs.

With the leg lined up to the port and her wrench in hand, Pinako gave one final look over her shoulder at Maud. "Try not to tense up," she said, even though she knew it'd be impossible to follow. Having electricity shot up your leg would do that. Maud rolled her eyes but gave a half-hearted thumbs-up.

"Alright, alright, three, two-" Maud tensed, "-one!" Pinako twisted the first nut into place.

Maud gasped and jerked under her hands, but Pinako didn't look up. "I told you it would hurt," she chided, twisting another screw into place. Part of her regretted not getting a second pair of hands on this; there were just too much to do. And the longer it took to get the limb set, the longer it hurt. Her mentor had offered to swing by to help with attachments, but Pinako was determined to do it herself. If she relied on him every time she needed to attach something, what would she do if he couldn't make it? ' _Sorry_ ,' she'd have to tell her clients, ' _Benson's sick so no arm for you!_ ' Hmph. As if someone else would determine her productivity.

She twisted another bolt in and Maud grabbed at the back of her suit and tugged. "Hold on, just got your anchor bolt left!" It wasn't unusual for attachments to provoke physical reactions from patients. Their nerves were literally being rewired and it hurt. Kicking and punching were par for the course, and Pinako had even been bitten once. Grabbing was tame.

She twisted and heard the final hiss and click of the socket and port connecting. Maud let go of her suit and Pinako took a moment to roll her shoulders. Connections took just over a minute but it was a hell of a minute. "Hey, roll your ankle for me. Can you feel it?"

No response. Pinako frowned and finally pushed herself off her workstool to face Maud.

Maud's head was lolled forward, eyes closed. For a moment, Pinako thought she had passed out during the attachment. "Maud? Hey, wake up, I need you to test your leg." She shook her shoulder, then froze.

Blood was trickling slowly but surely from her nose. "Maud?" Pinako asked again, shaking her more firmly and leaning closer. She wasn't breathing. She scrambled for Maud's limp wrist, desperate to be proven wrong, but- _no pulse_.

Pinako must have been yelling without realizing it because suddenly Dominic was there. She hadn't even heard him come in. "What the hell Pinako, I could hear you all the way across the street-!"

He stopped, swore, and pounded his way out of the shop. When he returned, several other mechanics in tow, Pinako was still standing there, one hand clenched around Maud's wrist. She hadn't even realized time had passed.

One of the mechanics pulled her away and steered her out of the shop, guiding her up the stairs to her apartment. Pinako let her lead, her mind too busy going in circles to focus on anything else. _Maud was dead. I killed her. It might have been an accident. I don't know. I checked everything. Didn't I?_

She waited in her apartment for all of five minutes before she left. She couldn't sit in there, feet away from Maud and the chaos. She needed to be somewhere else. Somewhere with a drink. Just one or two, to get the shaking to stop and her brain to slow down. And maybe not think for a couple hours.

Everyone knew everyone in Rush Valley, but everyone would know her the most at her regular spot, so Pinako opted for a bar she'd only been once before. It was small, dirty, and owned by a West City crime lord, so people tended to avoid it.

There was only one other patron, some blond guy, and Pinako ignored him as she dropped onto a barstool. A drink appeared in front of her. She downed it, not caring enough to figure out what it was or why the glass smelled a bit like vomit. Two more drinks followed before Pinako felt enough of the anger bleed away to look past her own nose. She squinted at the man hunched next to her. He was dressed in a traveling suit and there was even a briefcase propped up next to him. With the glasses and long hair, he looked like how some pretentious Central University professor would look. And he was definitely not from the Valley.

"You're new," Pinako stated, not quite far gone enough into her cups to notice that bit of information. "Who're you?"

He glanced over at her, tugging at his coat sleeve as he did so. "Hohenheim."

Pinako snorted. "Hohenheim? What kind of name is that?" Her manners were thin enough to begin with and the addition of alcohol only made it worse.

The man frowned, though it looked closer to a pout. "It's my last name." As if that somehow made it better.

"Well," Pinako waved a hand, "don't go passing that on to your kids. It's a mouthful."

Hohenheim turned away at that and Pinako rewarded herself with more drinking. And then she was talking, even though she didn't remember actually deciding to that.

"Apparently I'd fooled this whole town." Pinako slammed down the mug, even though she hadn't taken a sip. Some of it sloshed over the side onto her hand and the table. "They thought I was good. Hell, I thought I was good." I should have gotten Benson to help, she thought weakly. He would have noticed Maud dying. She was a fool for deluding herself into thinking she was better than everyone else. "Stupid." Pinako couldn't tell if she was referring to herself or the town.

It'd be all over the Valley by now, she was sure. Maud Gisson died on Pinako Rockbell's table. Even this Hohenheim from who-cared-where knew about it, from the way he was looking at her. It was quite judgement or pity, but it was… something. Anger? Disgust?

Hohenheim was staring at her over the rim of his glasses. "People die all the time."

For a moment, Pinako considered throwing her drink at him. What kind of comment was that supposed to be? He had to be some philosophy professor. "Wow, I had no idea," she spat instead. She'd lived in Amestris her whole life and watched the country cut its way through three different wars already. Her father's side of the family was all but gone, victim to the western border wars.

"Well you're acting like it's never happened before," he replied defensively. "Death's nothing special."

Burn it all, she was both too drunk and not drunk enough for this conversation. This is was what she got for picking the slummiest bar in town- she got stuck with some weirdo debating the commonality of death. "Yeah? You had someone drop dead in front of you, then? 'Cause of something you did to them?"

At that, he broke eye contact, looking down into his own mug. "I have."

It was a simple, short reply, but Pinako felt a very distinct shift in the atmosphere. Either she'd hit on a very sensitive topic or she was about to take a header. Regardless, her early presumption about Hohenheim being one of those stuffy Central professors seemed to be wildly incorrect. "Well don't pout about it, death's common." It was a mean thing to say, but she was far from caring. She finished her drink and gestured angrily for a refill.

The bartender shook his head. "That's all you're getting from me tonight," he said, ignoring the alternative gesture she offered him.

"Fine! I'm outta here!" There was no way she was sticking around with Hohenheim without something to help her forget the whole thing. She slapped some cens on the bartop and stumbled her way to the door. The wind was biting, sharp with grit from the mines, but Pinako was busier keeping her feet under her than noticing the weather. Her head was killing her; she couldn't wait to go sleep and most certainly not think about Maud-

"Pinako? Are you awake?"

Pinako cracked open an eye to find herself on the floor of her tiny kitchen, staring up at Hohenheim, who was sitting at her tiny table, reading the newspaper. The sun was up. She felt like garbage.

"How did you get in?" she asked. Her throat felt like it was about to tear itself apart. Ugh, she needed something to drink. She needed to change her clothes. And shower. And maybe get off the floor.

"I followed you in."

"You followed me?" That was enough for Pinako to half-surge, half-stumble to her feet. She slammed her hands on the table, both to keep herself upright and to startle Hohenheim. He didn't jump an inch.

"Yes. You were very drunk. I also didn't have enough money for a room."

"You- you-" Pinako's mind kept failing to connect the dots. "You've been sitting there all night?"

"Yes." Hohenheim gestured to the teapot on the table. "Tea?"

If that teapot hadn't been her grandmother's blue lace china, she would have brained him with it. "No!" she roared, ignoring the headache that was starting to build. "Get out!"

Hohenheim looked legitimately upset. "But I thought-"

Pinako's front door banged open and Pinako felt pain spike between her eyes. Burn it all, she was so hungover.

"Rockbell!" Benson, her mentor, stormed into the kitchen. He wasn't nearly as tall or broad as Hohenheim, but he commanded the room by sheer force of presence. "Where the hell have you been? The hospital's been calling down at your shop all morning."

The hospital. Maude. _Shit._ "I've been… occupied," she admitted weakly, running a hand through her hair. It was crusted with sweat and grease. She was still wearing her dirty jumpsuit.

Benson's eyes darted to Hohenheim and tightened. Pinako could see the assumption forming and she couldn't muster up the strength to explain herself.

"Oh, no, I escorted her home from the bar last night. This morning, I guess." Hohenheim took another sip of his tea, obviously picking up on the same conclusion. "She was very drunk. Passed out."

Her mentor's mood soured so much Pinako could taste it. She dropped her gaze.

"You're needed at the hospital." His tone was firm and disappointment rolled off every word. "You have to claim responsibility and sign off on the autopsy."

Autopsy. "Did they find out what happened?" She had theories, ideas, guesses, but hearing it officially was all the difference between "bad luck" and "your fault".

Benson folded his arms. For a moment, she thought he wouldn't answer her. "Bad alignment between the port wires and her nerves."

_Your fault._

Something heavy settled in Pinako's chest and she half-turned away, one hand scrubbing at her face.

Benson eyed her a moment before shaking his head. "Go clean up and handle your mess, Rockbell." The door slammed behind him.

Pinako shot an ugly look at Hohenheim over her shoulder. "Would you please get out of my house already?" I have enough to deal with.

He looked reluctant for reasons she couldn't even begin to guess. Nevertheless, he gathered his things and left, leaving Pinako alone in her kitchen with Maud clutching the back of her worksuit.


	7. Illness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's the final chapter! Thank you to everyone for reviewing/faving/reading!
> 
> Warnings: Language, some mentions of vomit  
> Characters: Pinako, Al  
> Timeline: Early series

"What's he doing?" Pinako asked into the phone, kicking her feet up on the stool in front of her. The winter winds rattled the windows, but she had the fire going strong. Not to mention a good bottle of that peach whiskey from Old Man Tru to keep her warm.

"Um," Al paused, presumably to figure out how to politely phrase his brother's most current bodily activities. "Throwing up."

Pinako sighed. This wasn't the first phone call like this she'd gotten from Alphonse since the boys had left Resembool. Edward was barely past the two-year mark for his automail rehab. Normally, he'd still be at home, not out in god-knows-where straining his system past its limits. But then, the boys could hardly be considered normal. "Does he have a fever?"

"I- I don't know, Granny."

Well shit, of course Al wouldn't be able to tell. Pinako topped off her glass and mentally kicked herself. "Okay, go stick a thermometer in his mouth when he stops hurling for a minute." Everything Al had described so far matched up with simple overexertion that happened with automail- soreness, low-grade fever, nausea. Nothing really to do but take some pills and sleep it off.

She listened to Alphonse shift, the metal scraping against itself. "We don't have one," he finally admitted, voice small, like he was bracing for a scolding.

Don't yell at him, she told herself. It wasn't Al's fault his brother couldn't be bothered to take care of himself. She'd give Ed an earful about watching his limits and resting his muscles the next time he came home. Or better yet, let Winry do it. "You at a hotel or the dorms?" For all she knew, they were camping out in someone's backyard and Edward was busy losing his dinner in their vegetable garden.

"Hotel," Al replied. He sounded relieved over dodging a lecture.

"Ask at the desk and see if the concierge will go buy a thermometer for you. Charge it to the room, the runt can pay for it."

"Okay, Granny."

"Call me back when you get it sorted."

Al agreed and hung up the phone. Pinako sighed, long and loud, and reached for her pipe. Keeping Ed on his feet had been a full time job when he'd lived under her roof- clearly that hadn't changed with him leaving. It was just her that evening; Winry had gotten held up at the Kitterings' farm when she'd gone over to help repair their tractors. It was sleeting out, and they were hardly expecting her to go tromping through that when a warm bed was open and available right there.

Pinako had taken the opportunity to put her feet up and have a good smoke. She'd even been thinking about digging out her knitting basket and finishing that scarf that'd been long forgotten. But clearly Edward had a way of crashing her evening's plans without even being in the same town.

Part of her wondered why they hadn't gone for a doctor in town, instead of calling all the way out to Resembool. With the military, they'd have open access to all the state's hospitals and clinics. But she knew Ed wouldn't tolerate some random doctor poking at him and a doctor unfamiliar with automail was likely misdiagnose him. Pinako, on the other hand, could figure out Ed's problems half a country away.

It was almost an hour before the phone rang again. Unsurprisingly, it was Alphonse. "Took you long enough," Pinako said in greeting.

On the line, Alphonse sighed. "Brother is not very cooperative when he's sick, Granny."

 _He's hardly cooperative when he's fine_. Pinako kept the comment to herself; Alphonse knew that fact better than anyone. "What's his temperature?"

"Just under a hundred."

Yep, she'd called it. "Sounds like it's just exhaustion. You boys got anywhere to be anytime soon?"

"We have to get back to East City, but not till next week."

"Well, stay put then. If that fever's not broken in two days, go to a doctor."

Alphonse made a frustrated noise. "I don't think he's going to sit still for that long."

"Then transmute him to the bed. Sit on him. Hell, slip him something in his drink."

"Granny!"

Pinako cackled, unable to help herself. He sounded so horrified at the thought of drugging his brother.

"But...What if he doesn't get better? What if he's _sick_?"

The emphasis on sick wasn't lost on Pinako. ' _Sick like Trisha_ ' didn't need to be said. "He's fine. He'll be cranky for a couple days, but he'll get over it. Make sure he drinks water." This wasn't the first time Al had been overly worried on Ed being sick. The first time Edward caught the flu after Trisha's death, Alphonse had been absolutely convinced that his brother was dying.

Pinako sighed, shifting in her seat. "You'd know if he was that sick, Alphonse. This is normal with automail. It'll happen until your brother learns to pace himself."

Over the line, Al sighed. Clearly he didn't hold out much hope for Ed ever learning to "pace himself."

"Listen, ask for a doctor's phone number. I'm sure the hotel has one they keep on hand for calls. If Ed gets worse of if his fever doesn't break, call for the doctor to come look at him." It was common sense to her, but Al wasn't even a teenager yet. He was out of his element and his guide was currently hurling his stomach into a toilet.

"If the doctor thinks he needs to go to the hospital, then go. But don't stress yourself out about it."

Alphonse hummed quietly in understanding. "Thank you, Granny."

"And come visit. Winry's almost got some new finger joint designs finished. Ed'll like them. And we need to yell at him about watching himself. And you need a babysitting break."

"Okay, Granny!"

They said their goodbyes and Pinako leaned back in her chair. Quiet nights to herself were welcomed, but she'd be a liar if she didn't want her family with her. Even if all they did was yell at each other over dinner.


End file.
